


Rusted from the Rain

by spookywoods



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Harry Potter, Getting Back Together, Hogwarts Express, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Murder Mystery, Professor Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-01 13:50:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16766386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookywoods/pseuds/spookywoods
Summary: In the middle of the Scottish countryside, Harry Potter investigates the scene of a murder that reopens old wounds and threatens to tear everything he loves apart.





	Rusted from the Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Candamira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candamira/gifts).



> I played with the prompt a bit and probably went a bit heavy on the angst. You listed Billy Talent as a favorite band, and I researched and listened to them before deciding on the plot. "Rusted from the Rain" spoke to me and seemed to hit the mark on a lot of post-war emotions. Thank you for introducing me to this awesome band, and for prompting such a great story idea. I hope I did it justice <3 
> 
> Thank you to K & K for the beta. And thank you to the Owlfest mods for the hard work and positivity!

“Potter.”

Harry stands with his feet in the snow, staring out at the rolling Scottish hills.

“Potter? They’re waiting.”

He remembers the first time he’d seen this view— his first trip on the Hogwarts Express. Everything had been so new. Magic had been like a dream, and that first trip to Hogwarts had ended up being where his life had began.

The war had taken so much from him, dirtied so many places, ruined so many memories with its dark and painful scars. And now this too?

“I’m coming,” Harry says, eyes unfocused.

He turns back around and boards the train car. In the steward’s compartment, he tells the Junior Auror he’ll meet her with the others.

“Give me a moment alone, please.”

Phillippa Marlowe rolls her eyes.

“You’ve just had forty minutes alone outside taking a piss!” Her eyes widen as she realises what she’s just said and who she said it to. “Pardon me Auror Potter,” she clears her throat and adds, “This is the scene of a murder. We need to either bring them in or let them go. We can’t hold them here forever.”

“Thank you, you’re dismissed,” Harry nods.

He waits for her to leave before unbuttoning his coat to inspect the bruises on his throat. His gaze falls to the torn fringes of his shirt where Draco had grabbed him. He clenches his jaw and lifts the crisp white fabric, exposing his abdomen and the flecks of dried come across his skin.

He shivers, remembering Draco’s lips against his. The kiss was rough, rougher than usual, and Harry is sure it’s been at least a year since they’d even touched. Harry grabs a cloth and wets it in the sink. With careful attention, he removes the traces of his husband— _ex husband_ —from his skin.

He blinks back the memories of pale fingers wrapping around his neck and hushed accusations made while their hands fought to get each other off. Neither could cast a _Scourgify_ on the chance the DMLE might audit their wands, since one of them was a suspect in a murder investigation and the other was his husb— _ex-_ husband. As Harry rinses the evidence of their coupling from his skin, he can’t help but replay Draco’s _‘I miss this so much’_ over and over again. He didn’t know he’d been dying for those words until they suddenly gave him life.

He finishes cleaning himself and runs his hands over the bruises again. Unfortunately, he can’t heal himself either, so they would have to stay. Harry wants them to stay. Harry shakes his head. There’s a lot that he wants, but the world doesn’t bend to the desires of man.

Buttoning his coat, he takes a few deep breaths to clear his mind. Draco had been a distraction and all Harry can do is move on. He needs to change course and get to work, but he knows there’s no way to ever truly move on from Draco Malfoy.

Harry heads down the aisle and into the next train car. All seven passengers that were present during the murder are scattered, seated around various tables. He’s already interviewed them individually; it’s time to test their reactions to his findings.

“Are you ever going to tell us what this is about, Harry?” Neville Longbottom steps forward. He’s wearing his professor’s robes. They hang loose around his shoulders, and Harry can see the heavy bulge of a flask in one of Neville’s trouser pockets. Harry tries to contain his unease at the sight of it.

“Yes. There’s been a murder.” His eyes dart to each and every person’s face. “A man has been stabbed to death with a cursed dagger.”

Almost everyone in the train car takes a breath and stares at him in some display of horror or shock. Everyone, Harry notices, except Draco. Draco’s head snaps to the right and he stares down Kerian Fleetwood. A few of the others follow Harry’s gaze and focus on Draco.

“He’s covered in blood!” Ester Lindgaard exclaims and points to Draco’s red-stained robes.

Draco sneers at Hogwarts’ new librarian.

Harry blinks. “It’s not blood, it’s Valiant Hestbloom serum. The containers were broken in his compartment when the train stopped.”

Harry meets Junior Auror Marlowe’s eyes and she nods her head.

When they’d first arrived on the scene and all Harry knew was that someone had been killed, he’d boarded the train and started searching for Draco like a man gone mad. He’d found him in a washroom desperately trying to clean the red stains from his hands.

 _‘What have you done?’_ Harry had screamed before he launched himself at Draco. He struggled against him and only stopped when Marlowe has started shouting.

 _‘It’s not blood!’_ she’d cried. _‘Smell it!’_

Harry shoved one of Draco’s hands to his face and inhaled the sweet scent of Hestblooms, Draco’s favorite potion preservative. He pushed him away and let Marlowe take his statement, choosing instead to inspect the murder scene.

Harry stares down Ester Lindgaard and says, “Once the train left Kings Cross, the wards were never breached.” He turns to the others, eyeing each of them with suspicion. “No one boarded or left the train until we arrived an hour ago.” He met Marlowe’s eyes. “The murderer is someone in this compartment.”

Neville takes a tentative step forward. “Who was killed?”

“That’s a good question.” Harry glances down at Neville’s left hand and the wedding band on his ring finger. “His papers say Dwight Mitchell.” Harry turns to the Elphard Eggstein, the train steward. “He boarded as a tall, dark-haired man in his thirties. He was found as a short, grey-haired man in his sixties. I recognised him immediately.”

The muggle studies professor, Bilton Argyle pushes forward. “Well?” He chomps down on his chewing gum a few times and asks, “Who, then?”

Harry licks his lips. “Corban Yaxley.”

“Are ve supposed to know who dis is?” Professor Yurova asks, her accent a thick Eastern European lilt.

“Kira, you’d do well to approach this situation with honesty,” Harry warns.

Her eyes narrow and she shakes her head. “I don’t know vat you mean.”

“Alright,” Harry raises a brow. “Let’s start with you then. Yakira Yurova. You were an instructor for six years at Durmstrang before you took on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position here. You’re incredibly skilled in the Dark Arts, and not just because it’s your area of study.” He leans down. “It’s a family hobby, isn’t it?”

Realisation washes over her features and Yurova glares at him.

Harry continues but watches the other passengers. He doesn’t want to reveal her secrets, he doesn’t want to reveal _anyone’s_ secrets; but he has to explain everything. It’s the only way he can weed out the murderer.

“Isn’t it true, Kira, that your father taught you everything you know?” Harry glances at her. If looks could kill, hers would be an _Avada Kedavra._ “When news reached you at Durmstrang that your father had been killed by Death Eaters, how long did it take you to find out who had been in the group?”

A look of sadness washes over her face and Harry can’t help the swell of guilt that rises in his throat.

“See,” Harry starts to say, but his voice falters. “I was involved in the apprehension and trial of every Death Eater after the war. I’ve read every single word from their case files and testimonies. So I know the identities of the four men and one woman who accosted Igor Karkaroff and tortured him to death.” He meets Kira’s eyes and nods. “Corban Yaxley was the only one who never saw trial or punishment.”

Her eyes fill with tears and she throws her head into her hands.

Harry gulps and turns to Bilton Argyle. “You told me you were asleep in your compartment the entire train ride, is that correct?”

The muggle studies professor nods and shoves his hands into his robe pockets.

“Then illuminate me—how on earth did your chewing gum wrapper end up beside the corpse?”

Argyle’s eyes go wide and Harry drinks in his nerves. The man swallows his gum slowly and fixes Harry with an accusatory look. “You can’t prove it was mine. Anyone could have left a gum wrapper on this train in the last few days. It was bustling with thoughtless schoolchildren. Undoubtedly, it belongs to one of them.”

“Undoubtedly,” Harry stares back. “Tell me,” he nods to Elphard, the steward. “After the train reached King’s Cross yesterday evening, did you cast any cleaning spells?”

Elphard Eggstein nods. “We cast _several_ cleaning charms and rid the compartments of anything left behind. The train was spotless for the return journey.”

“I’ve known you a good bit of time, Bilt,” Harry turns back to Argyle. “We’ve shared a few drinks down at the Three Broomsticks.” Harry laughs. “Remember that time we tried to drink a pitcher of butterbeer upside down?”

Argyle’s face softens and he almost smiles.

Harry continues, “That was a fun night. I remember when you’d first shown up. You were a bit down, said you’d almost not come out. You’d been to see your brother at St Mungo’s that morning.” Harry turns to the other passengers. “Not many people know it, but Bilton has an older brother, Thaddeus. He worked at the Ministry during the war. When Voldemort’s people took over, they eventually found out Thad was from a Muggle family.”

Looking back to Argyle, Harry pauses as the other man’s eyes turn pleading, silently begging him to say no more. But he can’t hold back. He has to lay it all out. There’s no other way.

“They tied him up and tortured him till he was incoherent,” Harry explains. He turns his attention to Neville and catalogues his stoicism as he adds, “He hasn’t been lucid in fourteen years.”

Bilton’s eyes fill with anguish. Harry’s objectivity almost breaks, but he summons enough resolve to keep pushing. “Tell me, Bilt. Who was in charge of your brother’s department when he was attacked?”

The train compartment remains silent as everyone turns their heads to look at Argyle.

“It was Yaxley,” Bilton finally says.

Harry nods then turns to the librarian. “You’ve been at Hogwarts for how long, Ms Lindgaard?”

The blonde snaps her head up. “Two years this May,” she says.

“And what did you want to be after you finished school?” Harry asks.

Ester frowns. “I wanted to be an Unspeakable.”

“Did you submit an application? Did you apply to the Ministry programs?”

“No,” she says.

Harry blinks. “Why not?”

She stares down at the floor. “My wand was broken during the war. My new wand never quite connected to me in the same way.”

“And you didn’t finish your NEWTs? Is that correct?”

Ester nods.

“Even after the war, when they were offered to all those affected?”

“I was—”

Harry interrupts, “You were in France, looking for your sister. You both had fallen in with the wrong sort of people after the Death Eaters broke your wands. You never found her, did you?”

Gaze still trained on the floor, Ester clears her throat. “No, I never found her.”

“And—” Harry pauses when he notices Neville reaching into his pocket. “Who was it that broke you and your sister’s wands?”

Ester raises her eyes to Harry’s.

He licks his lips. “It was Yaxley, wasn’t it?”

She doesn’t say anything. Neville pulls out the flask.

“And now you,” he turns to his old friend, before his lips touch the metal rim.

Harry smiles at him as he lowers the flask, and motions for Neville to hand it over.

“You’re not one to drink this early in the day. Come on,” he urges. “Share it if you’ve got it. I have to profile my ex-husband next. I need it more than you do.”

His friend gulps and hands him the flask. Harry unscrews the top and inhales a whiff of the contents. When he meets the other man’s eyes, he tries to convey his disappointment without words. But the other man just raises his chin.

”That’s strong stuff,” Harry says. He eyes his friend, squirming in his seat, no longer able to look Harry in the eye. “When was the last time you had a drink from this?”

Harry pulls out his pocket watch.

“Almost an hour ago, right?”

He screws the cap back on and puts the flask in his pocket.

“Answer the question, Ron.”

Everyone in the train car gasps. Harry’s eyes never leave his friend.

Finally, Ron speaks. “How did you know?”

Harry frowns. “Neville Longbottom never walks around with robes unbuttoned. And,” Harry points to Ron’s left hand, “Unless I missed the announcement, he’s never been married.”

“You could have said something in private,” Ron starts. “We could have talked about this just the two of us.”

“What’s there to talk about? That you’re impersonating someone? That you’ve incriminated Neville, our _friend_ , by your presence on this train while a murder took place?”

Harry strides forward and pushes his finger into Ron’s chest. “You’ve done quite a few rash things in your life Ron, but there is _nothing_ unplanned about polyjuice.”

“Are you accusing me of murder?” Ron shouts and pushes into Harry’s face. His hair is starting to turn red, and he’s so close now that Harry can make out the familiar freckles forming across his cheeks.

“I’m accusing you of _something_ ,” Harry starts. He turns around stares at Marlowe who is furiously taking notes. “I see few reasons for you to ride the Hogwarts Express to Hogsmeade wearing a Neville Longbottom suit that aren’t criminal or morally abhorrent in nature.”

Harry turns back around.

“You’ve forced me to turn the magnifying glass on you, Ron. My best friend. _You—_ who, on the surface, has no motive in this situation—have somehow made yourself appear the guiltiest of them all.”

“Ron Weasley?” Bilton Argyle exclaims.

“It took me a few minutes,” Harry explains. “I had to delve deep into my memories, but it was there: Corban Yaxley grabbing Hermione when we tried to go to Grimmauld Place. Then I thought about the dark circles, the fatigue, the signs of stress you’ve both been showing these last few months. Perhaps it wasn’t just work and the babies. Maybe, it was something else.”

Ron’s eyes had turned back to their natural blue by the time he lifts them to meet Harry’s stare. “She said she saw him outside Knockturn Alley four months ago. The nightmares have been bad—getting worse—ever since.”

Harry turns away, his stomach churning. Ron and Hermione are supposed to be the strongest people he knows, they’ve always been the backbone of everything he’s ever done. It guts him to hear about the nightmares, the stress, the surfacing of emotions and fears long buried in the past.

He bites his lip, willing himself to understand. Turning back to Ron, he asks, “And how did you know Corban Yaxley would be here?”

Ron’s eyes dart toward Kerian Fleetwood.

“Ah, yes,” Harry nods. “The former Death Eater.”

“There’s two former Death Eaters on this train,” Ester spits at Draco.

Finally, Harry’s eyes fall to grey and his world is turned upside down again. Every moment, every word, every memory he’s had to use against the people in his presence has left a gaping wound in his already broken heart. And now, he stares at the man who broke it.

“Draco,” Harry starts. “You knew Corban Yaxley quite well. Isn’t it true he visited the Manor several times during the war to speak directly with Voldemort?”

“You know he did.”

Harry blinks. He doesn’t want to see Draco’s face when he lays out his motive, but Harry can’t find the strength to look away.

“What would you say was the worst night of your life?” Harry can barely breathe after the words escape his lips.

Draco doesn’t move. He doesn’t blink. It’s as if Harry’s hit him with a stunning spell.

Harry wants to run out of the compartment. He wants to throw himself off the train and apparate far, far away. This is not a question he’s certain he wants to know the answer to, and he can’t handle the pained expression slowly working its way into Draco’s features. He can’t handle the quiver in his former lover’s lip or the unsteady rise and fall of his chest as he says, “The night you asked me for a divorce.”

Harry breaks eye contact and turns to stare out the window.

“I meant,” he sniffs, “during the war.” He blinks back the tears forming in his eyes. He ignores the sting in his chest as Draco’s words pierce him and threaten to tear him apart, relying on years of Auroring to get him through the formality of his questioning. “Haven’t you always said that the Battle of the Astronomy Tower was the worst moment of your life?”

“You’d use pillowtalk confessions as admissible evidence just to hurt me, then?” Draco seethes.

Harry turns back, his chest a painful knot of anger and misery tangled with longing and shame. He can’t help but hear Draco’s shouts echoing his head.

 _‘You promised you’d stop when they were all gone! It’s been two years since the last Death Eater was tried!’_ Harry can practically feel the books and clothes and framed photographs being thrown at him again.

He can hear himself say, _‘They’ll never be gone. That’s the problem.’_

Draco’s piercing grey eyes were framed in red when he replied, _‘It’s not your job to stop every evil person in the entire world.’_

_‘We all have a responsibility—’_

_‘Your responsibility is to me!’ Draco cried. ‘Where do I fall on the list of things that matter?’_

Harry takes a breath and repeats the same thing he said that night almost a year before. “This isn’t about you.”

“When you’re levelling an accusation of murder at me, I would say it’s very much my concern.”

He’s goading Harry’s temper and Harry knows it, but he can’t stop himself from rising to the bait. “I haven’t accused you of anything,” he says as calmly as possible.

“Get on with not accusing me then,” Draco glowers.

“You once said you were glad everyone who’d been on the Astronomy Tower that night was dead,” Harry says. “I pointed out that Yaxley was still alive. You said—”

“ _He doesn’t deserve to be._ ”

Draco’s features soften and it must be the memory of that night. Their night. Harry can’t help but think of it with fondness. His face flushes as he thinks about the first time they made love. That night, they had told each other everything.

 _‘No more secrets,’_ Harry had said. _‘Only promises and kisses and this—’_ He’d thrust back into Draco and found absolution as their bodies slowly forgave each other through the exchange of breaths and touches. They formed a new covenant where instead of searing, hateful words shared between them, their mouths would draw out breathless sighs and tender confessions of devotion.

 _‘I love you,’_ Harry had said for the first time. _‘I will_ always _love you.’_

Harry turns away. He can’t bear to say another word to Draco.

“Fleetwood,” he turns to the drunkard in the back. “Elphard tells me you’re a regular on the Hogwarts Express.”

“Knight Bus won’t have me,” the man slurs. “I have business in Hogsmeade.”

Harry arches a brow. He motions for Marlowe to hand him their interview notes. “Tell me, what business did you have in Hogsmeade two months ago?” Harry searches through his scribbles for the date. “You said you went to the Hog’s Head one night when a few of the Hogwarts professors were out celebrating?”

“I didn’t say they were celebratin’,” Fleetwood corrects. “I said they were meetin’.”

“And you felt the need to eavesdrop on their meeting.”

The man blinks back at Harry. “I have good hearin’, s’all.”

“Who was there?” Harry asks.

“Oh,” Fleetwood looks around. “Most of these.”

Harry takes a deep breath. “Which ones?”

Harry looks around at the other passengers. Yakira Yurova sits staring straight ahead, her jaw clenched and her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Bilton Argyle’s head is turned, his wide-eyes glued to the Kerian Fleetwood. Ester Lindgaard is biting her lip and fiddling with the hem of her jumper. Ron is staring at Harry, his eyes full of sadness and disappointment. Draco sits with his hands folded in his lap, a calm expression schooled across his features. Harry glances back at Elphard who meets his gaze and gulps.

Fleetwood points to Bilton, Kira, Ester, and Draco. He glances back and points to Elphard. “He came later. Toward the en’ of it.”

“And what did you overhear?”

“Well, it’s like I said, I wasn’ tryna listen. When I ‘eard ‘em say Yaxley’s name, my ears perk’d up like.”

Harry turns to Marlowe. No longer writing notes, she’s staring open-mouthed at Fleetwood as he tells his story.

“What did they say about Yaxley?” Harry crosses his arms.

“That he was back’n’ the country. A weasel had told Malfoy. Elphie offered to let ‘em use the train, sayin’ Yax deserved what was comin’ to ‘im.”

Harry licks his lip. “And what did you do when you heard that?”

“I turned around, din’ I? Yaxley was a prick.”

“You were a Death Eater, weren’t you Fleetwood? From both wars?”

“Aye. Came from a long line of Purebloods. S’what my father woulda wanted.”

Harry wills his hatred down beneath the surface. “What happened to your estate? Your possessions?”

Fleetwood stares down into his lap. “The Dark Lord saw fit to take ‘em away.”

“And why was that?”

“I couldn’t do it, alright?” Fleetwood’s lip quivers. “I couldn’t kill all those people. What would me ma say? So I…smuggled ‘em out.”

“The Muggles?” Harry offers.

Fleetwood nods.

“And Voldemort found out about it?” Harry presses. “Corban Yaxley told him?”

“Aye, it was him and Bastian.”

Harry takes a step back and turns to Marlowe.

“What do you make of it?” he asks her.

She stares at him. “They’re…”

“Guilty,” Harry raises a brow. He and Marlowe share a long look before he turns back around and addresses the others. “Where is the murder weapon? I’m guessing it was yours, Draco?”

Draco glares at him. “I told you, I had nothing to do with the murder.”

“And yet, this witness just confirmed you conspired with the other passengers to kill him.”

Ron steps forward, now completely transformed back to himself. “No one here was going to kill him,” he raises his arms. “We were going to convince him to leave the country for good.”

Harry shakes his head. “So that’s your story? That you all gathered aboard this deserted train to _talk_ with the Death Eater responsible for your pain and suffering.” He blinks. “To pressure him to leave the country. I’m sure we can find a way to explain how he just happened to cast a stunning spell on himself and fall on his own cursed dagger.”

The train car stays silent for over a minute until Marlowe grabs Harry and pulls him close. “With no actual murder weapon, we can’t know who did it unless they confess.”

Harry stares at his hands. They’re shaking. “They all did it.”

“How can you know that for sure?”

“We priori incantatem their wands.”

“They could’ve ditched the wand they used to stun him,” she whispers. She grabs Harry’s arm. “There’s no way to prove any of this and in the end, does it matter? The Ministry is saved the spectacle of another Death Eater trial.”

“Murder is murder,” Harry whispers, slowly.

Marlowe blinks back at him. “I’d hate to see the world in your two-tone black and white. _Sir._ ”

Harry takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Each and every person in the train car had suffered under Corban Yaxley in some way. The man had escaped justice time and time again and now lies dead, having bled out, in the third compartment of the fourth car. Was justice served? Who gets to decide? Did the people on the train deserve to go through a trial? Hadn’t they been through enough?

“Draco,” Harry opens his eyes. He turns around and stares at his husb— _former_ husband. “Come with me.”

He pushes through the door to the next car and waits for Draco to follow, pacing back and forth.

Draco slides the door closed behind them and meets Harry’s eyes. Time slows, and Harry stops walking. It’s quiet for a long time before Draco says, “I didn’t kill him.”

“I believe you,” Harry grabs his shoulders.

“But,” Draco blinks and drops his gaze. “I didn’t help him either.”

“I know,” Harry rubs his neck, he traces circles over his throat with the pads of his thumbs. Draco’s lips part and he sighs, relaxing into the touch. Harry’s missed him so much, missed this so much, he can hardly breathe at the thought that it might be all he ever gets. He just needs to know one more thing. “Tell me,” Harry gently trails his fingertips over the line of Draco’s jaw. “Why did you look at Fleetwood when I told you how Yaxley had been killed?”

Draco’s eyes flutter closed and he whispers, “What?”

Harry gulps. “When I told you that he’d been killed with a cursed dagger, you looked at Fleetwood.” Harry tilts Draco’s chin up so he’ll look at him. “Why?”

“Harry,” Draco pulls away. “ _Please._ ”

“You sold him the dagger,” Harry breathes, “didn’t you?”

Draco turns around.

“Answer me!”

“What does it matter?”

Harry bites his tongue and takes a breath. He chooses his next words carefully. “It matters. I have to know the truth.”

Draco lets out a cynical laugh. “The truth? You want the truth?” He shakes his head. “I sold him the dagger eight months ago when I couldn’t pay my reparations. You remember those? You remember how the Ministry waived them when I was married to _the Savior?_ Well, they suddenly remembered what they were owed not a minute after you’d signed quill to parchment on the divorce.”

“Draco—” Harry throws up his hands, “I had no idea.”

“I didn’t ask Fleetwood what he wanted it for,” Draco tilts his head, “but there’s only two things you do with magical weapons, and that drunkard doesn’t strike me as a collector.”

“Draco—”

“If you arrest him,” Draco interrupts, “you’ll have to arrest me. I sold him the murder weapon.”

Harry closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I’m not going to arrest you.”

“I didn’t sleep with you so you’d let this go.”

“I’m not—”

“You can’t let _anything_ go, Harry,” Draco says. “Except me, I suppose.”

Harry bristles, “I didn’t want to let you go.” He shakes his head, decision made. “I _don’t_ want to let you go.” He takes an unsteady breath. “When does it end?”

“When does _what_ end?”

“The pain of this war.”

Draco shakes his head. “The war is over, Harry. I’ve been trying to tell you that for years.”

Harry points to the next train car. “It’s not over for the people in there. They live and breathe it everyday, every night. I know you feel it too. I can’t—” Harry wipes his hand over his face and holds back his emotions as best he can. “I can’t go back in there and arrest half of Hogwarts’ distinguished faculty. I won’t arrest the man who has been the steward of this train since before my parents ever boarded it.”

Draco stares at him thoughtfully. “But it’s your job to arrest bad people.”

“Whoever killed Corban Yaxley is not a bad person,” Harry sobs. Draco grabs Harry’s hand and squeezes. The warmth of his touch helps Harry find the strength to say, “I can’t arrest my best friend, the man who stood beside me for more than half my life—Christ, the man who stood next to me when I married the love of my life. I won’t destroy these people’s lives.”

He takes a step forward and wraps his arms around Draco’s waist.

“I won’t destroy _our_ lives.”

“Our lives?” Draco eyes him.

Harry whispers, “It’s always been us. It _will always_ be us.”

“And what about _your_ job?”

“It’s not my job anymore. I quit.” Harry shakes his head.

“You quit?” Draco stares at him, wide-eyed and flushed.

Harry closes his eyes and pictures the snow-covered landscape outside. “The first time I boarded this train, I started the life that should’ve ended that night in the forest. But I’ve carried it with me. I think I should leave it here. I think—” he meets Draco’s stare, “ —it’s time I leave it behind. It’s time I live the life I died for.”

“Where do I stand in that life?”

“Right beside me.”


End file.
